


Wear Thee Better And Better

by Thistlerose



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:44:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk officiates at his first wedding as Captain of the <i>Enterprise</i>, and McCoy is surprisingly optimistic about life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wear Thee Better And Better

McCoy keeps to the edge of the crowd, surreptitiously watching people over the rim of his Scotch glass. He can see the bride chatting with some of her shipmates over by the refreshments table. She looks lovely in her dress blues, he thinks; her face all but glows, and her black hair is done up in intricate braids, adorned with tiny red flowers. It takes McCoy a while to locate the groom. He finally spots him up near the ventilation panel, an amorphous pink blur. At least he managed to stay corporeal for the ceremony.

McCoy silently salutes Lieutenants Adalia and Nde, and takes another long sip of his Scotch. He actually does like weddings, when he can make himself not think too hard about all that comes after. It's going to be interesting for these two. But interesting can be good. He supposes Adalia and Nde have as much chance of making their marriage work as anyone does, so – good luck to them.

Jim appears by his side, eyes bright, cheeks faintly flushed. He's been mingling, chatting with his crew, trying not to steal the spotlight from the couple he just married. He's been nervous too, McCoy knows. Not that he'll ever admit it, or show any signs of it outside his quarters. He's been Captain of the _Enterprise_ for two years, but this was his first wedding, and he didn't want to fuck it up.

"Beginnings matter, Bones," he had said as he'd smoothed down the front of his gold dress uniform earlier. McCoy had started to remind him that this wasn't the beginning for Adalia and Nde. But then he'd thought about Jim's own beginning, and the beginning of their strange relationship, and shut his mouth. Yeah, beginnings matter. Sometimes.

"What are your dire predictions?" Jim asks now, his chin close to McCoy's shoulder.

McCoy shrugs. "I'm learning to be optimistic."

Jim's brows pinch together over the bridge of his nose, and he presses a palm to McCoy's forehead, like he's feeling for a fever. McCoy bats his hand aside.

"Ahh, you must be from an alternate universe. If you see _my_ Bones, tell him—"

"Infant."

Jim smirks.

"They're not children," McCoy says. "Adalia has a good head on her shoulders, and Nde does too … about seventy percent of the time. I've worked with both of them, and if they stay as devoted to each other as they are to their jobs…" He gestures expansively with his Scotch glass, sloshing his drink. A frown tugs at his lips as he can't help thinking about his own marriage and how well that turned out.

"Have I mentioned," Jim says, maybe sensing that he needs a distraction, "that you look hot in your dress uniform?"

"I feel like I'm wearing a dress," McCoy grumbles, tugging at the collar, which somehow remains too tight no matter how many times he takes it to be adjusted. (There isn't a shred of evidence, but McCoy hasn't given up on the idea that Jim secretly replaces his adjusted uniforms – the collars, anyway – while his back is turned.)

"I'd probably find you hot in a dress too," Jim says.

"All it needs is a pulse, and you'd find it hot."

"Pulses are hot." Jim's tone is noncommittal.

"Go bother someone else. You're ruining my good mood."

"Yeah, well, it was freaking me the hell out." Grinning, Jim loops his arm through McCoy's and leans against him. He's warm through his uniform, a firm, solid presence at McCoy's side.

"I like officiating at weddings," Jim announces after a moment's silence. "I didn't think I would, for some reason." He juts his chin at Adalia and Nde, who's floated down from the ceiling to join his wife and friends. "When those two look back fifty years from now, they'll remember me. Maybe. I'm glad I didn't fuck it up. I fucked up my cousin Cherilyn's wedding when I was six."

McCoy raises an eyebrow. As if Jim needs an invitation to launch into a tale.

"I was the ring bearer, right? I had this stupid suit on, and everyone was fussing over me, but that wasn't enough attention, so I found the prettiest flower girl – who was maybe five – and I gave her the ring. You know, like a proposal. And she wouldn't give it back. It was sparkly. She threw a tantrum when they tried to take it away from her. The church had great acoustics, so the shrieking was just … ear splitting. She dropped it at some point, and it rolled somewhere. I forget how long it took them to actually find it." He grins ruefully. "Aunt Annie didn't talk to my mom for weeks after that. Mom thought it was funny. Sam said the flower girl gave me cooties. She kissed me. Right here." He points to his cheek.

"I'm shocked, Jim, shocked. And it took you twenty-one years to recover from the trauma. Amazing."

"Well, it's not like I got a flurry of invitations after that. Sam and Aurelan were smart and eloped. Who the hell would want to marry my Uncle Frank? Cherilyn was my only cousin. Most of my friends left Riverside after high school, and the ones who stuck around… We didn't stay friends."

There's something buried somewhere in that story, an admission of loneliness that McCoy might have tried to tease out of him, had they been in their quarters, curled around each other. With the proper application of hands and lips, McCoy can sometimes coax words from Jim that he'd never utter in public, no matter how theatrical and uninhibited he often seems.

Sometimes.

He hasn't heard _I love you_ yet, though McCoy has said it a couple of times – always during orgasm, when he can't _really_ be held responsible for the words leaving his mouth. He means it, of course, and he knows Jim knows that he means it, but – yeah.

He tries not to let it bother him. It's probably a good thing, actually. They've been friends for five years, but they've only been doing this for – what, now? Six months and change? That's not even as long as he dated Jocelyn before popping the question.

But this is so different.

It feels right. It's something he wants to be doing, as opposed to something he thinks he should be doing. So he's okay with it progressing slowly, with Jim taking his time trusting McCoy with his heart as well as his body.

(And if "it" ever gets a proper definition, McCoy thinks he might die of shock.)

"Oh, look," says Jim, cutting across his thoughts.

McCoy looks, and sees that Lieutenant Nde has totally engulfed Lieutenant Adalia. They've moved slightly away from their circle of friends; she's swaying gracefully while he sort of pulses around her.

"Sometimes I wish I were an energy being," says Jim. "Would've made school dances less awkward. You can't step on people's feet if you don't have feet."

"Is that what they're doing? Dancing?"

"Yeah. Why, what did you think they were doing?" There's a sly note in Jim's tone.

"Nothing," McCoy says quellingly.

"Dance with me, Bones. Come on."

"You dance. I'll just watch."

"As hot as that would be if we were alone…" Jim lets go of his arm and steps around him so they're standing face-to-face. "Come on."

McCoy hesitates. He isn't especially demonstrative in public. Standing in the corner with Jim hanging off his arm is one thing. It's discreet. As far as he knows, no one has so much as glanced in his direction since Jim joined him here. And that's fine. Their relationship is hardly a secret, but few of the people here have seen him do much more than lay a hand on Jim's shoulder when they're on the bridge together.

"You're not worried about stealing the happy couple's thunder and fucking it up?"

"I got them safely married," Jim says, holding out his arms. "Sans tantrums, sans cooties. I have discharged my duties. The rest is up to them. Please, Bones. We're probably the two most feared people on this ship. We need to show the crew our softer side."

"First of all," says McCoy, "I'm not more feared than Spock."

"Yes, you are." Leaning close, Jim takes the glass of Scotch out of McCoy's hand and sets it aside. Then he presses their lips together. McCoy's sigh is almost a grumble, but he doesn't try to push Jim away. His breath is warm and sweet, and his mouth so plush, so pliable, so—

Fucking distracting.

Jim tugs McCoy away from his safe corner and into a loose embrace. Still kissing him, Jim rests his hands on McCoy's hips. His touch is light; McCoy could break free if he wanted to.

Yeah, right.

With another grudging sigh, McCoy drapes his arms over Jim's shoulders. He isn't completely happy with this; though he'll gladly give you his opinion on any topic you like, when it comes to his personal life, he's a private person by nature, and always has been.

Still.

This feels good.

Jim breaks the kiss, but he keeps their faces close, his forehead all but resting against McCoy's. "Don't look," he murmurs, "but we have an audience."

"I figured we would."

"Are you angry?"

"No," McCoy replies honestly. He glances up, and yeah, he and Jim have caught the eyes of a few weddings guests, but no one's goggling at them. "Computer," he says, "dim lights by fifteen percent." A bit presumptuous perhaps – this isn't _his_ wedding, after all – but maybe it'll convince the rest to start dancing, redirect their attention.

"Before," Jim says, as they sway together, "when you were thinking, and I interrupted you – I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"What were you thinking about?"

"I don't even remember. Us, probably."

"Should I be glad that you were probably thinking about us, or upset that you can't remember?"

McCoy smiles despite himself, and pets Jim's hair. After a moment, Jim smiles too. Then – "Hey, Bones. Look." He turns them so McCoy can see Adalia and Nde, who are still dancing close, although now Nde has coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape, limning Adalia in shimmering pink light.

"Look at them," Jim says wonderingly. "Uhura introduced them, you know. I wonder what their first meeting was like. Sixty years ago, we didn't even know the Nfae existed, and look. That's what it's all about, Bones. Starfleet, I mean. Should be, anyway."

"What? Increasing the dating pool?"

Jim's grin shows off his even white teeth. "Look at us," he says. "Did you ever think—? That morning on the shuttle back in Riverside, did you think maybe—?"

"No," McCoy says with a bark of laughter. "Are you kidding? I thought I was completely fucked, that I was probably about to die, and even if I managed to live, nothing good would ever happen to me again. D'you think I would've shared my good bourbon with a stranger if I hadn't thought we were all going down in a fiery wreck? I was drunk, remember."

"Yeah, I remember. And yeah, I think you would've."

"'Sides, you weren't so pretty."

"I was gorgeous."

"Your face looked like raw meat."

"Gorgeous raw meat."

McCoy grimaces.

"Okay, okay, so I wasn't at my best, either. But, Bones…"

"Yeah?"

His lashes flicker, shadowing his eyes. Then he says, his voice pitched low so only McCoy can hear him, "'Thou has me, if thou has me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better.'"

"What's that? I'm a doctor, not an English Lit major."

"Shakespeare. Henry V romancing Catherine Valois. Or talking her into a pliant stupor, depending on your interpretation of the scene. 'We are the makers of manners.' It's good stuff, Bones."

"And it applies – how?"

"Look at them," Jim says again. "And look at us. I know I said beginnings matter, and they do to an extent, but – they're not _that_ important. We're a work in progress. So are they, even though they're married. They haven't reached some kind of finish line, I mean. 'Thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better.' I think we've both seen each other at our worst. I think I knew, when I met you, that things could only get better from then on. You stick with me, I stick with you, and they will. I know I still have plenty of rough edges. We both do. I don't know that I can smooth them all down. I don't know that I want to. I don't have a finish line either. I just want to keep going. With you."

He sort of mumbles the last words, but he peeks up from under his thick lashes, and even in the dimness, his eyes are a piercing blue. "'If thou would have such a one,'" he says, his fingers curling around folds of McCoy's tunic, "'take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king.'"

McCoy stops dancing. Not caring who might be watching, he cups Jim's cheeks between his hands and brings their lips together for a soft, lingering kiss.

 _I love you too, kiddo,_ he thinks.

He says, "Soldier, king, captain. Whatever. You're a goddamn crazy bastard, that's what you are." He kisses Jim again. "I'll take one to go."

7/12/10


End file.
